Dawn in in the Dead City
by LiquoriceLaw
Summary: Pilot's crazy. Snippy is long-suffering. Engie is filled with sarcasm. And Captain is Captain. It's another sunless day in Captania, and the gang all learn something about conflict resolution.


At times, the wasteland was almost beautiful.

The first hints of sunlight filtering through the ruined atmosphere mingled with the toxins and particulates in the air, beginning a silent dance of light and colour. Spears of violet, amber and that vibrant, unhealthy green beat and wavered, shattered and dissolved on the lightening horizon. Gradually, delicately, the outlines of skeletal skyscrapers were illuminated, ossified giants appearing out of the mist. There was a good view of the sun rising dimly over the dark water that lapped the edge of the city if you leant over the parapet of a particular tower block made stable by dint of having two others collapsed into it, acting as impromptu buttresses. There was an even better one if you were being held over the edge of said building by your throat. But that wasn't the best position from which to admire the scenery.

Alexander Gromov glanced down and estimated at least a dozen stories between himself and the street below. Not a great start to the day.

"WHERE IS CAPTAIN'S DEVICE?" demanded Pilot, shaking him a little for good measure.

"I don't know. It was gone when you woke me up. You said it was gone when YOU woke up. Ergo, neither of us had anything to do with it. Have you tried asking Captain about it?" He succeeded in keeping his voice fairly level. Good. Pilot didn't need any more excitement. Being dangled from a rooftop by this particular maniac was especially frightening because even if he didn't let go deliberately, he was likely to loosen his grip if he was distracted by a stray thought or even an unusually shaped piece of debris suspended in the air. He had to get back onto the roof fast.

This kind of thing was funnier when it happened to Charles.

"Captain left early. I'm going to make sure his device is safe and sound before he gets back. Now tell me what you did with it, you shoe!"

"Maybe Captain took it with him."

Pilot was quiet for a moment, the unfamiliar thought tracing a new pattern across the chaos of his mind. Or perhaps he had forgotten what he had been talking about. It was impossible to tell.

"Let me up, Pilot. We'll search the headquarters – it might still be there. We can ask Charles if he knows anything about it and when Captain gets back -"

"I KNOW you took it," Pilot had obviously remembered his original purpose. "I saw you touching it with your greedy scientist fingers as soon as Captain turned his back -"

"He _told _me to work on it!" the engineer cut him off, exasperated but trying to keep his voice from rising. "He wanted me to modify it, of course I was touching it, it's not like anyone else is qualified to -"

"Don't lie to me, you treacherous gewgaw!"

"… what?"

"You're trying to sabotage Captain's glorious plan! You stole his device for yourself and hid it to…"

The accusations kept coming and Alexander decided to consider his suspension problem from a different angle. If he kicked out and made contact against the side of the building with his boot he could – knock off a few flakes of peeling paint, a scattering of grit and, to his alarm, a chunk of concrete. Bad idea. Destabilising the rooftop enough to cause Pilot to fall would be satisfying but not ultimately conducive to his own survival. His only option was to talk his way out. Which would be fine, an area in which he was not incompetent, except that the person he was talking to was _Pilot._

He wasn't quite sure how Hatchenson was even doing it. He wasn't the tallest of the group, possibly the slightest in fact, but he seemed to direct any coherent thought or knowledge which didn't relate to aircraft into performing stunts of impressive physical achievement which were often directed towards his co-minions, with uncomfortable results. Alexander didn't really see how this enabled him to hold him over a considerable drop by his throat, but at the moment all he was worried about in terms of physics was the potential energy resulting from his current altitude – and what would happen if it ceased to be merely potential.

There was movement at the door of the stairwell and a figure in black and white stepped out onto the rooftop.

"What are you doing up -" Snippy trailed off as he took in the situation, far too slowly for the frustrated engineer's liking. Any help was better than none and the team's marksman was at least sane, but good _lord_ he was slow. Probably one too many life-threatening injuries and blows to the head, Alexander wouldn't know. He wasn't a doctor. Well, not that kind of doctor.

"This _brabbling goat _took the Captain's device for his own drubulous plots!" Pilot was quick to offer his perspective.

"That machine's gone missing and he thinks I took it," Alexander glanced meaningfully at the distant ground. "Seems angry about it."

"Let him go, Pilot," said Snippy sternly. Then his voice wavered; "I mean -" he started, realising his mistake.

Pilot lowered the dangling engineer a little way – not a threat so much as a consideration of the course of action suggested to him. He looked pensive. Alexander clutched at the wrist holding his collar in panic.

"_Боже мой!_ Could you be a little more careful in your choice of words?" he snarled.

"Bring him onto the roof. Now," Snippy moved purposefully towards Pilot, trying to look as authoritative as he could. When this had no effect he unslung the rifle hanging across his back and trained the barrel between Pilot's big green eye-pieces. "I don't want to do this. Bring him up."

"Oh, _thank _you Charles. I feel so much safer now," Alexander couldn't help feeling that, even if threatening to shoot the one person currently keeping him from a long fall and a sudden stop was a bluff, it wasn't a terribly well thought-out one.

"You can't be too worried if you have time for sarcasm," Snippy replied, without looking away from his target. "Bring him up."

Pilot glared at Snippy, then at the hapless scientist. "Not until he tells me what he's done with it!"

"I don't know where the damn thing is! It sounds like Captain took it with him! That's what he wanted it for, isn't it? He had some _проклятый_ stupid plan to "BROADCAST HIS MAGNIFICENCE TO ZEE WORLD", I stopped listening once he told me what he needed, so he wanted me to extend the range on a broken radio which it's frankly a miracle I was even able to get to _work_ -" Pilot's thumb shifted a little and Alexander's tirade was cut off together with his air supply.

"How do you know Captain doesn't have it?" Snippy demanded.

Pilot made no response.

"I said, how do you _-_"

"He would have told me!" Pilot wailed suddenly.

Snippy was taken aback and lowered his rifle slightly, his mobile goggle lids askew and giving him an appearance of confusion. "Huh?"

"He needs my help!" Pilot went on "I'm the only one who listens! _You_ always try to escape his orders, you worm, and this slug" – here he shook Alexander again – "looked trustworthy, but Captain was too trusting because of his wonderful kindliness and now…" Pilot was visibly distressed and, shoulders drooping, he lowered Alexander still further, seemingly forgetting that he was still holding onto him.

"Captain wouldn't want you to hurt Engie," said Snippy, finally resorting to the method most likely to have any effect. "He didn't tell you to do this, did he?"

No response.

"Captain will be angry if you drop him. He needs as many minions as possible for his… glorious army… " god, he hated doing this. Pilot might be simpler than a short range prone shot at a high vis target, but psychological manipulation just wasn't Snippy's forte. If Pilot was upset about Captain doubting his loyalty, or not trusting him enough or –_whatever_ was going on in his highly erratic mind, reminding him of the importance of other "minions" might not be the best idea. What did he do? This was the Gromov's area, not his. Normally the scientist ingratiated himself with the insane half of the group with minimal effort, and looked on with amusement while the throttled-and-shouted-at kind of treatment was meted out to the more recalcitrant Snippy. He just wasn't used to playing the negotiator. He looked to see if Gromov was enjoying this - the Russian seemed to have a penchant for needling him even when he himself was in mortal peril - but the engineer's eyes were shut behind his ski mask and he hadn't said anything for a while.

"Captain… needs…" Pilot grappled with the argument, seeking a foothold.

"Wouldn't Captain _know_ if Engie were untrustworthy?" Snippy pursued, trying to coax. He had only a vague idea of what coaxing, practically, entailed; his history of doubts, objections, exasperation and, at best, unspoken but wholehearted dissent, had left him ill-prepared for this. "Captain knows everything! He's the wisest man in the world, right?"

Pilot looked deeply suspicious – unsurprising, given that Snippy's words were an anathema to his usual opinion on their leader – but was unable to argue with his own heartfelt beliefs. Heaving a sigh, he gave Alexander a reluctant look and slowly brought him back towards the rooftop. Snippy leant his gun against the parapet and reached out to haul up the pendant engineer, holding him upright once he was back on solid roof since his legs seemed to have adjusted so well to their recent spate of useless kicking that they were now uncooperative in their usual supporting role.

More worryingly, his eyes were still closed and he didn't seem to be breathing.

"Uh. Gromov?"

Unsteadily detaching himself, the engineer slid down against an old air conditioning unit and sat hugging his knees. Once safely curled up in his defence mechanism position he opened his eyes at last and fixed the sniper, of all people, with a clear golden glare.

"Took you long enough."

Snippy was trying to decide whether it was worth explaining that some expression of gratitude would be appropriate - his impression was that it would be pointless, but that didn't make him feel any less pissed off - when the door of the stairwell opened again and a tall grey form strode towards them.

"MINIONS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOUR CAPTAIN REQUIRES YOUR ASSISTANCE IN HIS MAJESTIC ENDEAVOURS!"

"Uh…" Snippy looked around and realised the role of explaining fell to him. Pilot was staring at the ground, shoulders heaving, struggling with some emotion bigger than himself, while Gromov was quietly rocking back and forth and seemed to be talking to himself softly in Russian. "We…" he scratched the back of his head awkwardly through the hood of his jacket, "We… had a bit of an argument." There wasn't much point recounting the whole ordeal – Pilot was unlikely to be given anything resembling punishment, and even if the Captain _were_ by chance to act in a way that approached justice, Snippy wasn't sure he could do that to the troubled little psychopath right now. Pilot might have the mentality of a violent, unpredictable child but it couldn't be easy to be so devoted to someone so self-centred and oblivious.

It wasn't as if Captain was listening, anyway.

"BELAY YOUR BOOBERY! THERE IS WORK TO BE DONE. "

"Yeah, I'm – I'm sure there is… listen, Captain, you know that thing you found that Gromov was working on? Where -"

"AH! ZEE DEVICE!" Captain clapped his hands and bounced slightly on the balls of his boots. "EVERYTHING IS IN PLACE. ENGIE DID MOST SATISFACTORY JOB." He gave the catatonic engineer a double thumbs-up. "NOW WE MUST BEGIN THE SHOW. MR SNIPPY, YOU WILL ACCOMPANY YOUR CAPTAIN WHEN HE MAKES HIS TASTY BROADCAST TO PROVIDE AMUSING CHARACTER CONTRAST."

"What?" Don't even try to make sense of it. That way lies madness. "Right, whatever you say, Captain. And what about Pilot?"

"PILOT?" Captain looked round and seemed to notice him for the first time. He made a careless gesture. "PILOT CAN PROVIDE SOUND EFFECTS."

"Right, because that's the most important job, isn't it? You couldn't trust anyone else to do it." He made another attempt at coaxing. He would _hate_ himself for this later, the next time Pilot tripped him up and danced on him or took away his rifle and set Photoshop on him, or – wait, why was he doing this again?

Pilot had perked up, raising his head to gaze at the Captain in joy and disbelief. "Really?"

That was why. Because he was the sole decent human being on the team. Because someone had to be.

The Captain began to object and Snippy interrupted, "Well, let's make a start. Your majesty isn't going to broadcast itself." He picked up his rifle, returning it to its habitual place on his back.

"NO, NO, MR SNIPPY. TODAY WE BROADCAST MY **MAGNIFICENCE**. ALTHOUGH, PERHAPS FURTHER EPISODES WILL BE REQUIRED TO COMMUNICATE THE MANY GLORIOUS ASPECTS OF CAPTAIN…" Pondering this new line of thought, he set off down the stairs, hands clasped contemplatively behind his pack. Pilot was quick to follow, practically skipping.

Snippy let out a sigh. What a day… and the sun had only just come up. Somehow, he never thought surviving the apocalypse would involve so much emotional turmoil. As ordeals went, he almost preferred fighting monsters. Almost.

He looked at Gromov, still huddled on the ground, and made as if to say something; thinking better of it, he turned to go.

"Well done."

He turned back. The engineer seemed to have calmed down but made no indication of getting up.

"Excuse me?"

"You outsmarted Pilot. I'm impressed, Charles. I didn't think you had it in you."

Back handed compliments? Gromov was going to be just fine.

Snippy shook his head, blowing air through his respirator, and turned to leave again.

"Cпасибо."

He didn't bother to turn around this time. "Is that another insult?"

"Oh, don't make such a drama out of this. I would have done the same for you."

"No, you wouldn't! You would have watched, and encouraged him. And laughed. Just like all the other times you've watched and laughed. It's not so funny when it happens to you, is it?"

Gromov ignored this. "I took some spare parts from the radio. It won't need all of them for this open broadcast they're planning."

"So..?"

"I can fix the sights on your rifle. You've been going on and on about how you're going to get killed if we keep sending you out on missions without working parallax compensation. I'm sick of hearing about it."

Snippy wasn't quite sure how to react to this. "I - that - with _radio _parts?"

"The problem was with the dials. Radios have no shortage of dials. It's not rocket science."

The sniper stared at him, then laughed, looking up at the grey sky. "You're such a coward."

"Why?"

"You think I'm pathetic for expecting to be thanked for saving your life? How pathetic is it to be incapable of saying 'thank you'? Two words, Gromov. It's not rocket science."

"Just give me the gun." The engineer stood and dusted off his coat.

"What if I need it today? Faulty sights are better than nothing, and we're probably going to be in the middle of nowhere."

"You'll be with Seven. You'll be fine."

"'Fine' is not how I'd describe it. There's a world of difference between 'not dead' and 'fine'." But he unslung his rifle and handed it to the engineer.

They set off down the many flights of stairs, clambering over rubble and mangled railings and the odd skeleton.

The sun was up now, somewhere, invisibly lighting the cloudbanks and ash that overhung the city into swirling chiaroscuro. The expanse of water reflected the sky in its obsidian surface, churning with azure swirls where it met the rocky beach.

"See you later then." Snippy set off to catch up with Captain and Pilot, who hadn't got very far – they appeared to have been distracted by a traffic light at the end of the street.

"Try not to get eaten during the few minutes you're alone without your gun. It would be just -"

"Just my luck, right. Take care, Gromov." You'd be less use defending yourself with a gun than I would be without it, he managed to prevent himself from adding aloud.

"Bye."

"Bye."

They parted ways, the engineer heading back to his old bunker for tools and Snippy going to meet the others, who were now performing some manner of victory dance around the vanquished traffic light. Captain greeted him with a regal wave and a cry of "COME, MY FAITHFUL SNIPPY SNIPER. THERE IS NO TIME TO DALLY." Pilot threw a piece of traffic light at his head.

A few streets away, Alexander scaled a pile-up of crashed vehicles blocking a crossroad and paused for breath, taking in the view of derelict shop-fronts and scattered debris. It wasn't quite as spectacular as dawn over the silent water, but hey. At least his feet were back on the ground.

THE END


End file.
